


FF#1: The Problem

by SmoakandArrow



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 06:17:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1677869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmoakandArrow/pseuds/SmoakandArrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A routine business trip to Ecaudor turns into anything but for Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FF#1: The Problem

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one part, flash fiction story written as part of the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge going on at Tumblr. It's a free writing challenge with the story "inspired" by the supplied weekly prompt. Flash fics are written, edited and posted in only 60 minutes, so please excuse any typos.
> 
> Pairing: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak (Olicity)
> 
> Rating: R (just in case, for language, adult content, etc.)
> 
> Prompt: Into the Wild

* * *

_Somewhere in Ecuador…_

 

"The man dies first," Christian Ramirez said in Spanish. He pressed the blade into the other man's hand. "Then the women."

Beyond the terrace doors, hidden by night and lost in the shadows he'd long become accustomed to, Oliver Queen stilled. Wind slithered across the back of his neck. His hands clenched. His focus shot to the second floor balcony where Felicity Smoak slept. Something in his chest tightened.

 _It was a mistake bringing her here_ , that voice in his head whispered again. It was the same thought – the same internal warning – that flickered through him when Christian Ramirez helped Felicity out of the limo he'd sent to fetch them from the airport. The same subconscious warning that rose again during dinner when the too-smooth, too-charming Ecuadorian had flashed her a too-white smile over the rim of his wine glass. Felicity had smiled and laughed in all the right places a polite guest should. Oliver, however, found himself repeatedly touching the handle of his dinner knife.

He hadn't understood the urge then. He kept telling himself it was the jungle and the heat bringing back the past. That uneasiness haunted him long after dessert and idle chit-chat about distribution and work and Queen Consolidated. It clung to him in the shower; kept him tossing and turning until he'd abandoned the luxury of the king-sized bed to prowl the estate grounds.

Call it insomnia, call it jetlag, call it an odd sixth sense honed by five years of hellish survival in a kill-or-be-killed world… Whatever it was, Oliver decided as he moved, silent, across the stone terrace, toward the open doors of Ramirez's private library, it had saved his life. Again.

"There are no problems?" the second man asked, his Spanish equally calm and smooth. "There are bound to be questions."

Oliver knew the voice. The driver, he realized as he studied the reflection of the room in the glass panes of the door. A tall man. Dark and sleek and deadly. _Like a cobra_ , came that warning voice in his head again. The same comparison he'd made when the man opened the limo and welcomed them to Ecuador.

 _Beware his bite_ had flashed through Oliver's head when their eyes locked over the top of Felicity's head. Later, Oliver only heard the household staff refer to him simply as Franco.

"There will be no problems," Ramirez assured him. Ice cubes clinked in a glass. "I've taken the standard precautions."

Oliver's brow creased.

Franco drew a wicked looking blade from its sheath. He turned it in his hand, letting the light glint down one lethal edge, then the other. His dark eyes lifted to his employer. "Where did you put it?"

"Queen's nightcap."

Oliver smothered a snort. The brandy. The one still untouched by his bedside. Son of a—

"Danyana took care of the woman."

Oliver's stomach knotted. Danyana. Ramirez's teenage daughter. The one with waves of black hair, an innocent face, and eyes far too old for her age. The girl Felicity had spent time with while the men "talked business." The one Felicity had gifted with her favorite MAC lipstick. Oliver clenched his jaw. _Bitch_.

Ramirez reached for the crystal decanter on the bar. "Senorita Smoak never even noticed the needle hole in the bottle of water brought to her." He shook his head. "Americans."

Oliver closed his eyes, forced himself to take a steadying breath. A sedative. It had to be something to keep them both docile, not kill them. They wouldn't run the risk of a tox screen. He forced his eyes open, found himself fixated by the knife's reflection. If they'd poisoned them, Ramirez's assassin wouldn't need the blade.

"And after?" Franco asked as he sheathed the knife. The weapon practically hummed at the contact with the leather.

With skin, Oliver couldn't help but think. Some weapons were just made to kill.

Christian gestured toward the open doors and the sprawling gardens that eventually morphed into miles of untamed jungle. "Take them out into the mountains. No one will question how two stupid Americans wandered too far down the wrong road and found themselves overrun by bandits. It will be just another footnote for CNN." He snorted into his glass before he took a sip. He licked his lips. "Who knows, it might even improve the stock value of Queen Consolidated." He waved the man away. "Go. Do it. I have tired of the endless emails and ceaseless questions prying into my business. My arrangement with Queen Consolidated was supposed to be a convenience, not a constant thorn. Enough is enough." He stood by his desk and idly sorted through the papers there. "I want their bodies out of my house by dawn. End it, Franco. Now."

Franco nodded, just once, a simple bow of his head before he strode across the dark wood floor toward the door.

Oliver moved faster. Three running strides had him at the stone banister. He leapt at it, planted a solid boot against the rail and pushed off, letting the energy of that momentum carry him up and back toward the house. He twisted mid-air, caught the edge of the balcony, then maneuvered himself over the railing with minimal effort.

He tested the handle, let out a sigh that was part relief and part disappointment that Felicity hadn't felt the need to secure the latch. He opened the door just enough to slip into the darkened room. They _seriously_ had to have a talk about trust and –

_Swoosh!_

Oliver reacted on pure instinct, ducking the object swung at his skull, and coming back equally as fast. He caught the weapon – a heavy bronze statuette – with one hand, his attacker's throat with the other, and squeezed as he slammed them back into the wall hard enough to jolt the lowboy dresser beside them.

Breasts pressed flat against his chest. Blonde hair fluttered down to brush his knuckles. Scent rushed him – warm bath water, tropical flowers, and honey. His grip instantly loosened as he gaped down at the women molded against him. "Felicity?"

"Oliver!" She let her head drop back to the wall behind her, but her heartbeat hammered against his palm so hard he thought it'd dent it. She let out a shaky breath. "God, you scared that crap out of me."

"How did you—"

"I just woke up thirsty and when I went for the water, I realized somebody'd tampered with the bottle. I felt the syringe hole."

He stared at her, not sure if he should be impressed or a little scared.

She angled her chin upward. "You don't grow up, female, in Vegas without knowing _all_ the roofie tricks." She straightened. "What were _you_ doing out there? What…"

He released her, took the bronze from her with a simple twist, and deposited it on the dresser as he headed across the room. He paused at the chair where she'd left her clothes and tossed the fabric bundle at her. She caught them on reflect, but something tiny, a little shiny, and suspiciously lacy tumbled to the floor and landed next to her foot.

"Get dressed," he ordered.

She dumped everything on the bed but her pants. She hopped as she tried to get her foot into one of the legs.   "What's going on?"

He cracked the door open to check the hall. Darkness shrouded the long corridor but it wouldn't take Franco more than a few more seconds to reach their floor. Another minute to get into Oliver's room. Less than ten seconds, maybe twenty, before the assassin realized Oliver wasn't in the bed. That the brandy was untouched.

Oliver closed the door, locked it, then grabbed the edge of the dresser and tugged. The chest grated against the floor, making him wince, but any barrier was a good barrier. He glanced at Felicity, frowned as he watched her shadowed form struggle to get her arm and her head into her blouse at the same time. "Felicity!" he hissed.

She squeaked and turned her back to him, pretty much telling him she hadn't bothered with the bra yet.

"Hurry up," he growled.

"You're not helping!"

He hurried back to her, sweeping up her shoes as he went. When he reached her, he dropped them to the floor again, grabbed the hem of her shirt and yanked down. At least one button popped. It pinged off the wall, hit the floor, and rolled away. Oliver plucked Felicity's eyeglasses from the nightstand, plopped them on her nose, and then nudged her shoes toward her with his toe. "Now," he said, putting ever ounce of command he could into that single word.

Felicity shoved her feet into the sandals even as she pushed hair back with a quick rake of her fingers. "What do they want?"

A door banged against the wall next door, making the plaster shudder and Felicity jump. A second later her door jolted. Franco swore from the other side.

"Time's up," Oliver said, grabbing her arm and tugging her toward the balcony.

Felicity dragged her feet. She tried to twist from his grasp. "Wait! I need my—"

Heavy weight struck her door, jolting the wood panel hard enough to make the wood protest with a crack.

Oliver shoved Felicity through the doors and into the night air. He didn't have to tell her what to do. She was already up and over the railing. He hurried after her, caught her forearm, and used the hold to lower her as far as he could before he released her. He heard her land, didn't stop to see how gracefully before he dropped after her. Experience had him rolling across the dew-dampened earth to absorb the impact, back on his feet and already up, wrapping an arm tight around Felicity's waist to drag her up too, when the sound of the bedroom door being forced, of the heavy wood chest being pushed aside, echoed in the night.

Lights came on. One room. Another. Floodlights burst to life on the far end of the property, then seemed to stomp toward them as quadrant after quadrant of security lights sprang to life.

Felicity grabbed his hand and pulled. "This way!"

They sprinted across the grass, barely staying ahead of the lights, until Felicity cut a sharp line across the grass, down a steep slope, and into a overgrown grove of trees. She stopped abruptly and Oliver stepped them both back into the shadows the grove provided. The scent of Magnolias flooded his head. Insects buzzed around his ears.

Felicity panted as she sagged against him. Definitely no time for the bra.

"Do you have a plan?" she demanded.

"Yes. Get the hell out of here."

"Terrific."

Oliver nodded at the deepest part of the garden. "We go that way. Get to the trees."

"You mean the _jungle_."

"They won't be able to track us there." Unless they had dogs. Or body heat detectors. Or night vision goggles.

Felicity grabbed his arm when he would have moved. "Wait," she hissed. "What about Diggle?"

Oliver grimaced. "Certainly explains the sudden 'emergency' that made him go back to the airport to check our plane, doesn't it."

"Oh. Oh, you don't think…"

"Divide and conquer."

"We can't just leave him—"

"Digg's Army Special Forces. He can handle himself. Hell," Oliver grumbled, "he probably realized something was wrong long before we did. He's probably working his way back to us. Once we get out of here, we'll head toward the airport. We'll try to meet him halfway."

"Oh, crap."

"Now what?"

"My bag."

"What?"

"My bag!" Her gaze strayed helplessly to the compound. "I left it in the room. My phone's in it. My tablet, too. Everything!" She punched her glasses up the bridge of her nose with her forefinger. "Do you have anything on you?"

Oliver shook his head.

Dogs barked in the distance.

He tensed. "Shit."

Felicity took two steps forward before she stopped, turned abruptly, and practically bounced off his chest.   He caught her elbows to keep her from pitching backwards onto her butt.

"We can't leave!" she burst out.

"Felicity!"

"I can't. If Ramirez is… God, what is he? Cartel? Arms dealer?" She shook her head, waved the question away. "I can't just leave Danyana here! Not with these people. She…"

Oliver tightened his grip, gave her a small shake just hard enough to silence her. Her eyes rounded behind her glasses. "Oliver," she whispered, "she's just a kid."

He drew a quick, deep breath, hating Ramirez, hating Danyana, and damned well hating himself when he said, "Who do you think drugged your water so they could slit your throat?"

She flinched. Something in her eyes dimmed. Hurt flickered across her face before it vanished completely.

Masks, Oliver realized. He wasn't the only one accustomed to wearing one.

Felicity pulled away from him and opened her mouth to speak, but Oliver pounced. He slapped a hand over her mouth as he boldly lifted her off her feet, and turned, pushing them both back into the blanket of deep shadows the trees provided. Felicity's breath puffed from her nose across his hand, fogging the lenses of her glasses, but she stayed silent. Her eyes locked with his in the scant distance that separated them.

A walkie-talkie crackled nearby. Twigs snapped underfoot. A figure moved passed them, so close Oliver caught the faint whiff of cheap cigarette smoke that still clung to the guard.

Eyes still on Felicity, Oliver eased his hand from her mouth.

The radio crackled to life as Franco started yelling orders.

Oliver slipped from the shadows. The guard reached for the radio. It was over in seconds.

Felicity hugged herself as Oliver crouched next to the guard's body to pat him down. Matches. A set of keys with a small flashlight and a Swiss army knife. Oliver pocketed them both before pulling the semi-automatic pistol from guard's holster, then the radio. He turned the volume down, but not off.

As Oliver shoved the gun into the back of his pants, he glanced at Felicity. She looked paler, if that was possible, her eyes huge in her face as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Oliver took a deep breath. "Felicity, I didn't kill him. He's just—"

"What did he say?" she blurted out.

He scowled. "What?"

She pointed to the walkie-talkie he still held in his hand. "The guy on the radio. He said something right when you…" She swallowed. Hard. "He said something."

Oliver clipped the radio to his belt and stood. "Nothing," he lied. "It's not important."

"It sounded like he said… Oliver? Oliver, he said my name. Why would he say _my_ name?"

"Because." His jaw tightened. "You're the one they're trying to kill."

 

**~*~**

[Learn More about the Olicity Flash Fiction Challenge](http://smoakandarrow.tumblr.com/post/86018442279/olicity-flash-fiction-prompt-1)


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